


when she needs me

by Flora_Obsidian



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, give thirteen a hug 2k20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22445572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flora_Obsidian/pseuds/Flora_Obsidian
Summary: The thing with life is that it keeps on happening. People move on. People die. And you don’t, and you never do, and things just… continue. He’d know.So would she.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Jack Harkness
Comments: 26
Kudos: 295





	when she needs me

**Author's Note:**

> Chibnall be like....... the audience can have little a Jack Harkness, as a treat.
> 
> Anyway !! Have something soft, set in a nebulous period of time in the future where everything is _completely fine_.

They don’t do the touchy-feely kind of anything, not the soft kind, the kind he and Ianto ~~might have~~ had. He hugs her (him, them) because he can, kisses her as a reminder they’re both still alive-- and it doesn’t help that she’s a damn beautiful sight. Rainbow striped shirt, nice touch.

But when all’s said and done, and the TARDIS hums in a gentler way at his presence on board instead of trying to flee to the far end of the universe, and the after-image of a burnt orange wasteland is seared into the backs of his eyelids with a myriad of horrors accumulated through the centuries, and everyone else has gone to bed but for the lone figure poking at wires underneath the console… all’s said and done, but the thing with life is that it keeps on happening, and _done_ doesn’t mean _over_.

“Doc,” he says, wandering down the steps to the undercarriage of the ship’s console. The Doctor sits in a swing with a pair of goggles and a lap full of sparking wires and cables. She’s going to zap herself, he knows it. “Hey.”

“The amount of innuendo you can stick into two syllables never ceases to amaze me, Jack,” she declares, and pulls a soldering iron from her pocket. He knows better than to ask.

“What I can and have stuck things into _is_ pretty amazing,” he shoots back, and it gets a huff, which isn’t quite a laugh but it’s as close as he thinks he’s going to get. “Though, I wasn’t really trying to that time. Listen--”

He starts to step closer, and-- it could be accidental, really, with how the ship seems to hold together through spite and a godawful amount of DIY fix-its with the improper materials, but it could just as easily be deliberate, when sparks flare out from one of the cables. The Doctor mutters a curse under her breath, sticks her burnt fingers in her mouth, and slides out of the swing and up around to the other side of the console, pushing her goggles up with her free hand.

Jack sighs and follows her.

“How long have those three been with you?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the hallways branching away, leaning back against one of the railings.

“Year and a bit. They’re-- good. They’re my fam. Think that’s the word we’re using. _Gang_ didn’t really stick, same with _team_ , did you know Yaz helped me go shopping when I was stuck on Earth? Bit of a funny story…”

She launches into a retelling that would make him laugh if he was a little more distracted. Or maybe drunk. Or, both. He thinks she’s making half of it up, but it’s always hard to say.

Her coat is tossed over a seat, the fabric singed, smelling of smoke and char and the atmospheres of alien planets. Her hair still has ash in it. She hasn’t met his eyes, not once, and he doesn’t think it’s because he’s weird to look at. He’s plenty attractive enough to cancel out all that _fixed point in time_ shit. That’s not the problem here.

The thing with life is that it keeps on happening. People move on. People die. And you don’t, and you _never_ do, and things just… continue. He’d know.

So would she.

“Doc,” he says again.

“-- _apparently_ , when humans get piercings, they go somewhere special to do that? Didn’t realize, just thought these one’s looked nice, and it was like a new hole every time you wanted a different pair--”

There’s dirt underneath her fingernails, streaked across her skin. He knows he doesn’t look any better. One of her earrings is missing. The other, the clasped silver hands, is a dull gray in the low light.

They’re not really ones for the touchy-feely things, or for talking about their problems. So he skips over the talking entirely, given how wonderfully it’s working, and steps around the other side of the console to pull her into a tight hug and doesn’t let go.

The Doctor goes stiff and still and stops breathing, which would worry him more if he didn’t know about the respiratory bypass. He can feel the bones of her shoulders under his hands, the tensed muscles.

“Jack,” she says. “What--? What. Jack.”

“Doc,” he says.

She doesn’t try to pull away, either, that’s the thing, so he stands in the low amber light of the quartz-like pillars and holds her. After a minute, she starts breathing again. Three, and her arms come up to wrap around him, fingers curling into the folds of his overcoat. A tremble runs through her frame, barely-there.

“I close my eyes and Gallifrey is there.”

She doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask her to. Gallifrey-of-War, Gallifrey-that-once-was, Gallifrey-that-is-no-more. All of it hurts in its own way, and never stops.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Sorry.”

“Me too.”

Bad enough they have to suffer, but that others should have to suffer as they did? The idea of it sickens him, and simultaneously he’s glad for the connection. Someone else _gets_ it.

When she does step back, slowly, he’s lost track of the time. She would know. Time Lord, and all. Her eyes are red, but he won’t comment.

The Doctor stands on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. “That’s all you’re getting from me,” she says with a sliver of her regular humor, rough though it is. He musters up a flirtatious grin.

“Leading a poor man on?”

“Oh, be quiet.” She shoves him, and he catches a slight smile. Good enough, for now. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

 _There are more entertaining things to do_ cuts over another thought of _if you’re sleeping with me_ interrupts _I’m never quiet_ and a wink, and any of those would be the usual pattern of conversation, but--

“Making sure you sleep too, that’s all.”

The smile goes sad. They both know she isn’t one for sleeping. Except she sighs, heavy, and nods, and sets the goggles down on the edge of the console.

“Work can wait until the morning, I suppose.”

People move on. People die. He doesn’t have a choice in continuing forward, and neither does the Doctor.

But sometimes the small moments make the bad ones a little more bearable.


End file.
